Wild Rider - Gav Thorpe

by Warhammer 40K

  ‘What happened to her? I mean, the family records say that she was a warlock when she died in battle. But, what happened?’

  Nuadhu was reluctant to talk about the dead in this place, but the silence that followed B’sainnad’s question was even less welcoming as they continued into the depths.

  ‘I do not know much. A force was mustered in the webway to destroy an incursion by servants of the Dark Powers. My mother died in the fighting, but her spirit stone was not recovered. My father believed – still believes – that her soul is bound within the webway itself. I know that his malaise is related somehow, though he does not speak of it.’

  ‘And you think that Yvraine might help?’ asked B’sainnad with uncharacteristic perception. ‘So, it’s not just about Druthkhala at all.’

  ‘She fascinates me,’ admitted Nuadhu. He smiled lopsidedly. ‘And terrifies me. Under her beauty I know she has a soul as dark as midnight. Or did. She is Commorraghan, a veteran of the arenas. She’s killed how many other aeldari and lesser creatures? A murderer, through and through.’

  ‘I certainly wouldn’t want her in my bed, I’m not sure I would wake up in the morning.’

  ‘That’s the thrill, is it not? And there is more to her than bloody death. She is the messenger of Yvraine, one of the Ynnari. If you want stories of ghosts and hauntings, the Ynnari are the living tale of it.’

  ‘She’s fed on the terror and pain of countless victims, Nuadhu. That taint cannot be erased.’

  ‘Like you said, it is not just about Druthkhala,’ said Nuadhu, eager to change the subject. ‘I am hoping that Yvraine might know something of my father’s condition, or perhaps just settle his fears regarding what happened to my mother’s soul. I have heard that she is a vessel for Ynnead’s mercy, able to channel the souls of the departing to the God of the Dead, and use that power against her enemies.’

  ‘Now who is believing fantastical rumour?’ The pair stopped as the last step brought them to a corridor that ran straight ahead, the walls agleam with spirit power. A stronger light shone from archways ahead, a cold silvery hue among the dim gold.

  ‘How long have we been walking?’ asked B’sainnad suddenly. ‘I have no sense of it. Nor can I recall how long since we came to the dome.’

  Nuadhu tried to answer but found that he also could not reckon the time that had passed since they had arrived. It was unpleasant, reminding him of traversing the webway.

  ‘Spirit energy bends the material world around it,’ he told his companion, trying to find comfort in rationalising the irrational. ‘The escaped spirit matter contorts time in these caves, I think.’

  ‘We’re nearly there, aren’t we?’ said B’sainnad, nodding to the glowing arches ahead. ‘There’s going to be a chamber or hall, and the oracles are going to be there, frozen in time.’

  ‘Yes, I believe that is the truth of it.’ Nuadhu’s waystone felt heavy on its chain around his neck, as though soaking up the spirit energy. ‘Almost time.’

  ‘And what are you going to say to them?’

  ‘I am more concerned with what they will say to us, my good friend,’ replied Nuadhu, straightening his shoulders as though a heavy pack was set upon them. ‘Come on.’

  Side by side they strode up the corridor and into the golden light.

  Chapter 7

  THE LAST TRUTH

  The Oracles of the Last Truth were almost exactly as Nuadhu had expected them. That did not stop the thunder of his heart at the sight, nor the shock at seeing his breath fogging in the suddenly freezing air. The cold was like a physical assault, leeching sensation from lips and fingertips, hurting his eyes. A gasp from B’sainnad confirmed that he was not alone in the affliction.

  Like frozen waterfalls, widening crystal threads cascaded down the slope of the hall, gathering in a pool at the centre. It was no great leap of imagination to picture the dire time when the infinity circuit had fractured and the spirits within had burst forth like gushing water, sucking life and light from anything they came upon. Scores had died and hundreds of spirits had been lost before three brave seers had dared the depths of the psychic explosion to stem the expulsion.

  They stood there still, crystal bodies garbed in robes now threadbare, still adorned with their charms and rings, their runes scattered about the floor around them.

  The oracles had arms upraised, fingers spread as they had channelled the escaping psychic power. Like those who spent a lifetime harnessing the energy of the warp and spirit, their bodies had turned to crystal from the bone outwards. But not for them a slow envelopment and eventual long sleep. Their faces were twisted with pain, teeth bared and brows furrowed against the agony of their turning.

  Nuadhu shuddered, not just from the warmth-sapping psychic aura, but a more existential chill that ran through him when he looked at the trio of petrified figures. Though they looked like aeldari – clad in forms with arms and legs, dressed in the garb of seers – they were no different from any other part of the infinity circuit. The people, the memories, the personalities they had been were long gone. It was simply an illusion of life.

  And it was the fate that waited all Asuryani.

  Those fortunate enough for their waystones to capture their souls, that was.

  His hand moved unconsciously to the gem at his chest, fingers smarting from its ice-rimed surface. Its cold fed into his spirit also, numbing his passion, draining vitality.

  Nuadhu’s gaze flicked to B’sainnad, who had uttered not a sound since his expression of shock. His friend stood as rigid as the crystal statues, head cocked slightly to one side, lips parted in horror.

  ‘B’sainnad!’ Nuadhu moved to grab his friend’s shoulder to shake him free of his entrancement, but there was no need. At the sound of his name echoing around the chamber, the pilot blinked and turned his gaze slowly to Nuadhu.

  ‘It is…’ B’sainnad did not finish the hesitant sentence. A brighter gleam from the centre of the hall drew their attention. The light within the crystal figures was slowly strengthening.

  The Wild Lord and his companion descended the sloping floor, careful to avoid the rivulets of psychic crystal that ran across the cracked slabs. The air grew colder still, forcing them to wrap their arms about their bodies, hiding their fingers in their armpits. Nuadhu’s eyes ached with it and the tips of his pointed ears grew painful.

  The flickering orange that emanated from the figures suggested a fire, and the simple hint of warmth drew the pair of petitioners closer still.

  Nuadhu was relieved to find that the light was not merely a suggestion of heat. As the psychic power coalesced into the frozen seers, the atmosphere regained some of its former warmth. It was barely enough to melt the flakes that had gathered on their eyelashes, but after the momentary freezing, it felt like a return to comfort.

  They watched as the witchlight suffused the seer-statues, filling them as a liquid inside an oddly shaped vessel. The light brought greater detail to the features, every line on their faces, even eyebrows and veins below the skin visible within the subtle crystal growth. A breeze of no normal origin stirred the robes, giving the sense of movement. The pair stepped back, wary once more.

  With a strange creaking, the closest figure lowered its arms.

  Locked rigid by fear, Nuadhu watched wordlessly as the crystal seer slowly turned her head, robbing him of volition even as the statue seemed to gain its own. The psychic light pooled in places to give the aspect of eyes and a flush to the cheeks, flowing like blood within the prison of crystal.

  The other two followed in a semblance of life, hands at their sides, faces turned towards the interlopers with softly furrowed brows.

  The lips of the first that had roused parted, mouthing silently, but words came to Nuadhu’s thoughts – and B’sainnad’s too, judging by his utterance of surprise.

  Here arrives one to disturb the Oracles of the Last Truth. A seek
er of glory. A warrior-lord.+ The psychic communion took a more sinister turn. +One who would bend falsehood into truth and bring ruin to us all.+

  ‘I am Nuadhu, heir to Clan Fireheart, Lord of the Wild Riders.’ He was not sure whether he needed to speak or simply think the response, but put the answer into words all the same. The idea that they were inside his mind was unwelcome, even for one used to the omnipresence of the infinity circuit’s empathic links.

  ‘I am B’sainnad Fireheart.’ The pilot cleared his throat self-consciously. ‘Companion to the Lord of the Wild Riders, second son of Tiramanya and Naerien Fireheart.’

  I am Illanor the Augur.+

  The name was familiar to Nuadhu. A farseer that had died fighting humans not so long ago.

  ‘I thought the oracles were Cathasarren, Alodrist and Yddgara?’ said Nuadhu.

  ‘My mother fought with Illanor several times…’ whispered B’sainnad.

  These forms belong to all. They are a conduit, nothing more.+

  I am Yddgara.+ A brightening of the statue furthest away indicated from whom the spirit voice emanated. +One of those that crossed the veil to save our people. Five lifetimes I have spent trapped within this not-flesh prison so that Saim-Hann endures.+

  I am Lorios the Fatebringer,+ added the last of the triumvirate. Another seer, two generations dead. +We inhabit these vessels to speak with you, but make your petition swift. The dead do not like to be reminded of what they have lost.+

  Nuadhu tried to quickly gather his thoughts. Why had he come? The decision of the council not to support the seers in a pre-emptive strike had riled him, and he sought… some excuse, he realised, heart sinking. He had come here out of little more than petulant opposition to the council.

  ‘A great evil has awoken, ancient seers,’ said B’sainnad, whose infatuation with fictional works had clearly prepared him better for the encounter. Nuadhu raised his eyebrows in disdain at his friend’s arch tone. ‘The necrontyr.’

  For a lifetime and more they have been waking,+ said Lorios. +Now they threaten Saim-Hann.+

  ‘How do we defeat them?’ Nuadhu said bluntly. ‘The clans are at odds and if the seers had more to say on the matter they would have shared it at the council. I was hoping that the most ancient minds of Saim-Hann could point me towards victory.’

  Yddgara lifted a finger towards Nuadhu.

  You are the one that roused them, Nuadhu Fireheart. This curse is laid upon you.+

  ‘How could we know that Agarimethea was a tomb world? It was not my fault.’ He faltered under the otherworldly stare of the animated spiritseer. ‘Not mine alone.’

  Whether you accept the blame is irrelevant,+ said Yddgara. +Upon the skein of fate it is your thread that crosses the necrontyr world, and no amount of denial can sever a road already walked. It is the future that concerns you more.+

  ‘The seer council warns that the necrontyr will gather their strength and then attack, and Saim-Hann will be caught in the war that unfolds.’

  We assisted in the scrying,+ said Illanor. +Devastation will follow if the necrontyr war is not diverted or stopped.+

  ‘The involvement of Yvraine of the Ynnari makes matters more complicated,’ said Nuadhu. ‘The clans are wary of helping the one that almost destroyed Biel-tan.’

  She too will come,+ said Yddgara. +The skein resonates with the power of the Whispering God, and the dead listen. Our prehistory returns to cast its shadow over the living. The aeldari and the necrontyr have battled for eternity. Once both races combated the Dark Powers, but they were turned upon each other by divisive and irreconcilable ambitions. The cycle turns again, slow but inevitable.+

  Lorios lifted a hand and an image appeared in the air above the animated group. It swam in and out of focus for a moment, a picture cast upon mist, until it resolved into a world orbiting a violent star. As fronds of devastating stellar winds lapped at the planet, great starships emerged, huge stasis barges carrying thousands – millions – fleeing to other worlds. Nuadhu knew the story well enough. The origins of the necrontyr had been taught to him as a youngster, along with the rise of the aeldari dominion, the War in Heaven and the Fall.

  Across the galaxy spread the ancestors of the Living Dead, raging war against the Old Ones that had been the creators and protectors of the infant aeldari. A shadow blotted the stars, lit only by a tracery of light that Nuadhu recognised as the webway – hidden in the warp against the encroachment of the necrontyr.

  The grip of Dark Gods and the predators of the warp assailed the realms of both Old Ones and necrontyr. Once more the galaxy burned with war, a conflict that broke the barriers between realms and exterminated entire star systems. Whole species caught in the conflagration perished. Their death-cries echoed in Nuadhu’s ears, indistinct, fading to nothing.

  The coming of the sun-eaters known as the C’tan burned across the vista, consuming the necrontyr, leaving ash in its wake. From the dead worlds rose a host of metal skeletons, undying but soulless. Thus was the fate of the necrontyr sealed for eternity.

  The war did not end, but became a longer, colder contest. Though the Old Ones diminished and disappeared, a brighter star awakened in their passing. Guided by the last survivors of their ancient creators, the aeldari rose to dominance, using the bright paths of the webway to strike far and wide, unleashing the power of their ­psychic might against the physically trapped necrontyr. The shadow of death receded, fleeing to worlds on the halo of the galaxy, far from surging aeldari warhosts.

  And then the expanding light halted and dimmed.

  ‘We should have hunted them down when we were at our full power,’ declared Nuadhu, the display of the seers letting him understand anew what he had known and forgotten.

  Indeed. And there lies perhaps our greatest error,+ said Illanor.

  The Fall was but the consequence of the lapse in rigour that occurred so many generations before even the first of the pleasure cults was formed.’ Yddgara raised a crystal hand to his brow, head bowed in sorrow at the thought. +Complacency. We did not see our foes defeated entirely, but were content that they would never return. From that contentment and comfort were sown the seeds of our later woe. Folly of the highest order.+

  But not unexpected of a people war-weary after an existence of endless conflict.+ Lorios’ avatar turned amber-filled eyes on Nuadhu.

  ‘And now I have brought them back to plague Saim-Hann,’ whispered Nuadhu. ‘When we are already sorely beset.’

  Your guilt is misplaced, young lord,+ Lorios replied. +For a generation now, the necrontyr have been reviving. Not by chance, we see, their return is but part of the unfolding malaise that engulfs the stars again. Detecting the growth of warp disturbance once kept in check by their technologies, the necrontyr are waking again.+

  ‘Doubtless to exploit the weakness of their old foes in these ­troubled times,’ said Nuadhu, the image of the necrontyr expansion and dissipation still lingering in his thoughts. ‘So you say that even if I had not disturbed the tomb vault, the necrontyr of Agarimethea would have roused at some time.’

  ‘Learned seers, I still do not understand how it is that the waking of a tomb world so close at hand was not foreseen.’ B’sainnad’s affectation had become almost comically arch in his attempt to address the seers in what he considered an appropriate tone. Nuadhu darted him an amused look and earned a scowl and shrug in reply.

  It is not an unreasonable thought,+ Lorios answered. +Had you greater maturity, Nuadhu, you would understand that we should never accept blindly what we assume to know.+

  ‘I am not an infant,’ Nuadhu growled. His mood soured and his tone became sarcastic, mocking both B’sainnad and the seers. ‘Why is it, wise and ancient ones, that you of such mature knowledge did not foresee the coming of the necrontyr?’

  To answer you must look to Yvraine and her people,+ said Illanor, showing no sign of irritation at the Wild Lord’s ou
tburst. +Where the Whispering God treads, the threads of fate are shadowed. Our living counterparts may have read the runes a hundred times and seen the rise of the dead, but not interpreted the signs beyond the arrival of Ynnead’s birth.+

  Still cold, Nuadhu rubbed his hands together, looking from one seer to the next. The conversation had moved away from his original intent.

  ‘We must strike at the necrontyr before they can rise in greater strength. The longer we delay, the harder the task becomes. How do we persuade the council of this strategy?’

  It is beyond your capacity to destroy a tomb world, Nuadhu Fireheart,+ Yddgara told him. +If the clans do not unite, there is no hope of taking the war to Agarimethea.+

  I do not concur with your assessment,+ said Illanor. His face assumed the semblance of a half-smile, the reflection of Nuadhu disjointed upon the crystal facets. +The means of their demise is contained within them.+

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Nuadhu, who was in no mood for seer-riddles and enigma. ‘Our people may live or die by what we decide in the next few cycles.’

  You already know the answer to that,+ Illanor replied. +It is that which took you to Agarimethea at the outset.+

  ‘The vault!’ blurted B’sainnad, grinning. ‘Whatever they are guarding, we can turn it on the necrontyr.’

  ‘If we can reach the vault again and open it,’ added Nuadhu. Though he struck a note of caution, the prospect excited him just as much as the promise of the original expedition. A small part of him also delighted at the prospect of more time spent in the company of Druthkhala. ‘But Clan Fireheart is too weak to face even those forces that had been raised against us when we were there. You are right, alone we cannot breach the tomb complex.’

  And alone you will perish in the attempt, lord and clan together.+ Lorios’ proclamation was a cold fist wrenching at Nuadhu’s heart, giving voice to the doubt that had bedevilled Nuadhu since the council.

  ‘Earlier you said that Yvraine is coming to Saim-Hann,’ said Nuadhu, clutching at any hope he could find. ‘With the Ynnari’s aid we could open the vault. They gain what they desire and we shall be rid of the necrontyr.’